


Words Echo in My Head (I Keep Hearing Footsteps on the Floor)

by Forestfire34720



Series: Spectres [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Batbrothers (DCU), Batfamily (DCU), Brothers, Bruce Wayne-centric, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Ghost Dick Grayson, Ghosts, Grief, Guardian Angels, Hurt/Comfort, Implied descriptions of injuries, Protective Dick Grayson, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24641215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forestfire34720/pseuds/Forestfire34720
Summary: “Bruce stares silently at the ornate, polished wood, the very best money can buy, and thinks that he’d gladly give away all his wealth, sacrifice every valuable he had, even hang up the cape and cowl, if only he could have his son back.”In which death is not the end and one man misses his father.Or: Guardian Angel: Batdad Edition
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: Spectres [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697866
Comments: 12
Kudos: 148





	Words Echo in My Head (I Keep Hearing Footsteps on the Floor)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song Spectres, by Aviators.

Bruce comes home from Ethiopia with a broken body in his arms and death weighing on his soul.

Alfred and Barbara are waiting for him when he steps from the Batplane, faces drawn and taut with tension. He meets Alfred's eyes for a split second and can see the utter grief in his normally unshakeable gaze. Alfred takes in a shaky breath, then visibly tries to compose himself. His eyes glint wetly at the corners.

"Master Bruce," he says, voice tinted sorrowfully, "where — ?"

Bruce circles around to the storage area of the plane, where a black cloth is settled over the vague shape of a body. Both the body and the cloth are lying in a shallow, open-topped box. He had scrounged it up in Ethiopia to stop the corpse from sliding around during the flight. And to help... keep the body all in one piece.

Barbara lets out a ragged sob at the sight of what's left of Dick. She moves toward him, one hand reaching to pull back the cloth. Bruce catches her wrist and gently holds her back. When her gaze snaps up to him, anger flaring to life, he shakes his head.

"Don't," he orders, the hoarse edge undercutting the authoritarian tone. "Don't look. It's not... just don't look."

Her face twists up in hot fury and horrible, horrible understanding. Her mouth opens like she's about to scream at him, but all that comes out is another broken sob. Bruce catches her when her legs give way beneath her. Barbara turns away and collapses to ground, the cave echoing with her grief.

Alfred kneels beside her and wraps her in his embrace. She clutches onto him desperately. With Barbara's face buried in his shoulder, Alfred looks up at Bruce, suddenly looker infinitely older.

"Perhaps we should relocate Master Dick to somewhere more befitting," he quietly suggests.

Bruce just nods. He doesn't trust himself to say anything without also breaking down. He picks Dick up, box and all, and carries him upstairs, cradling his son close to his chest. Barbara's heartbreaking wails echo behind him, and something wet drips onto the cloth.

* * *

Two days later, the Titans show up on his doorstep.

"Tell me it's not true!" Roy demands when Bruce opens the door, his voice burning with an anger that can only be borne of desperation.

"He can't be dead," Wally insists, eyes wild with fear. "Please — "

Bruce stares at his son's best friends and tries to speak, but his throat gets tighter the longer he stands there. It doesn't matter though, because his face says it all. Their expressions crumple.

"No," Donna whispers, and her voice breaks off into a sob.

Garth falls to his knees.

Bruce lets them inside and leads them to the closed coffin his son is now being kept in. He stares silently at the ornate, polished wood, the very best money can buy, and thinks that he'd gladly give away all his wealth, sacrifice every valuable he had, even hang up the cape and cowl, if only he could have his son back.

"Can we see him?" Wally asks quietly, and Bruce shakes his head.

"No," he says, because they deserve better. They deserve to think of Dick with a cheerful grin on his face, eyes bright and full of health. Not obliterated. His face burnt almost beyond recognition. His body had barely even held together after the explosion. He'll spare them that cruel pain, of thinking of their friend and only remembering him frozen in his dying moments, of only seeing a corpse they can barely recognize instead of the beloved face of a best friend.

They must understand what his answer implies, because none of them argue. Garth bows his head over the coffin, murmuring in Atlantean. Roy clenches his fists so hard they turn white, shoulders stiff and face like stone. Donna and Wally cling to each other and cry.

* * *

Nightwing's funeral is massive, with heroes flocking from all over to pay their respects. The entire Justice League is in attendance, joined by all their protégés. The place is packed to the brim. There's even a civilian section off to the side, where a huge crowd gathers in solidarity; people who were once saved by Nightwing have now come to thank him for the final time. Surprisingly, a few of the more affable villains make an appearance too. Various Rogues from Central City tag along at Flash's and Kid Flash's heels, and at one point, Batman glimpses Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy watching from a nearby rooftop.

When Batman stands and gives his eulogy, he talks of Nightwing's skill, his adherence to justice, his determination to always do the right thing. He speaks about how he was always be willing to help those in need and praises the way Nightwing brought the hero community together, even as the lone hero of a single city.

"He was one of the greatest of heroes," Batman says. "The world will miss him."

He does not cry, because Batman does not cry. He keeps his voice steady, and when he is done, he steps down silently, his emotions hidden behind with a stoic mask.

Dick Grayson's funeral is a much smaller, quieter affair. Only his family and closest friends attend this one. Barbara and Alfred are there, of course. Clark and Diana sit near the back and quietly mourn the boy who laughed his way into their hearts. Donna, Wally, Roy, and Garth are clumped together in the front, shoulders pressed against each other. Bruce looks at them and can't help but see the empty space where his son should've slotted right in.

When Bruce stands and gives his eulogy, he talks of Dick's kindness, his devotion to his loved ones, his ability to make anyone smile and laugh. He speaks about how his laughter could light up any room, and reminisces on the way Dick filled his life with smiles and happiness, even after the tragedies that marred his childhood.

"He was the best, purest person I ever knew," Bruce says. "I'll miss him."

Batman does not cry, and Bruce Wayne does not either. But his voice wavers and grows hoarse with the strain of holding back tears, and when he is done, he is on the verge of breaking, his emotions threatening to overflow.

He only lets himself cry later, when he is alone in an empty, silent manor.

* * *

Bruce ends up turning most of the pictures in the manor face-down. He leaves a small one at the base of the memorial, and one in his bedroom, watching over him as he sleeps. They're a cruel reminder of this life's costs, the price of justice, why he has to keep fighting. But he can't bear to see his son's face in every room; it's agony to remember what Joker has taken from him. He leaves Dick's old room untouched, unable to handle even going near the room.

Alfred, he knows, still goes in. He dusts it thoroughly and mourns the young man. Alfred has his own picture of Dick, in his room. Occasionally, Bruce finds him staring at it.

Bruce buries himself into his vigilante work. He puts the Joker in a full-body cast for six months, almost kills him in the process, and throws him back in Arkham. He lands a large majority of Gotham's bigger villains in the hospital when they gloat about Nightwing's death. A lot of the smaller-time crooks lay low, either out of solemn respect for Nightwing or fear for the Bat's increasingly-violent beatdowns.

His day life ends up neglected. Bruce holds the bare minimum of events for Wayne Enterprises and barely shows up to half. Lucius Fox pulls him aside to talk about it, but his reprimands are half-hearted and more for show than anything else. Other than that, he avoids being Bruce as much as possible, because being Bruce means drowning under the crushing pain of his son's death. As Batman, it's easier to bury his guilt and grief.

Alfred disapproves. Bruce knows Dick would too. But Alfred is in mourning and Dick is dead. No one is around to stop him from shoving all his messy emotions down into a dark corner of his mind.

Instead, Bruce studies that night with a obsessive determination, pores over the original incoherent report he made and the subsequent rewrite of it, looking for anything he might have missed. Alfred would find him awake and working in the cave, night after night, over and over and over again until his vision blurs and Bruce isn't sure if he's home or in Ethiopia.

Alfred tells him that it's not healthy. Bruce agrees. Then he throws himself back into work in the futile, wishful hope that if he knew how to save him, maybe he could get a do-over. Maybe he could get a second chance.

Bruce knows he won't get Dick back. But when he returns to the Batmobile one night to find most of the tires gone and a skinny, malnourished kid brandishing a tire iron at him with a defiant scowl, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this is his second chance.

Jason is not Dick. But he's his son nonetheless, and Bruce refuses to fail his son again.

He and Jason fight. A lot. Bruce nearly has an aneurysm when he catches Jason sneaking out one night, clad in one of Dick's old Robin uniforms. He drags him back home and forbids him from doing it again. He won't lose another son to this life.

Jason glares at him and tries to sneak out again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after _that_.

It takes months before Bruce finally caves. He drills Jason repeatedly and puts him through a grueling training regimen, even by his standards. When it comes time for his first official patrol, Bruce almost changes his mind. It's only the knowledge that Jason is going to keep trying to sneak out that stops him. Bruce doesn't have the time to constantly monitor him and ensure he stays at home.

At least this way, Batman will be close at hand if anything goes wrong.

Not that it ends up helping.

When Joker kidnaps Jason and disappears into Ethiopia, Bruce's worst nightmare comes to life for the second time. His first son's bloody remnants keep flashing through his mind. It doesn't help that the entire situation is eerily reminiscent of what happened with Dick. In fact, Bruce suspects Joker is intentionally recreating it as a way to mock his failure. When Joker sends him a taunting message, it only reaffirms that theory.

"Doesn't this seem familiar, Bats?" Joker cackles, and in that moment, Bruce wants nothing more than to break his neck. "Let's see if baby bird number 2 dies just as easy as the first one!"

Bruce almost doesn't make it in time. The warehouse is already burning by the time he skids his motorbike to a stop. Bruce's heart leaps into his throat and then he's screaming his son's name and charging in, heedless of danger.

Snow crunches under his boots. Fire roars in his ears. Ash showers his shoulders.

There's a body in the flaming wreckage, and for a moment, all Bruce can see is a torn blue-and-black shape. Then the shape moves and breathes, and heavy relief crashes over him like a wave.

Jason's alive.

Somehow, miraculously, his son is alive.

* * *

After Jason comes a multitude of other children: Tim, Stephanie, Cass, Damian.

Bruce welcomes them into the manor without hesitation. He gives them a home when they lose theirs, gives them a family when their own turn their backs on them. He gives them everything he can because he failed Dick and he won't fail any of them, in any way, shape, or form. Bruce isn't perfect, not by a long shot, but he does what he can.

Tim is clever and intelligent and kind, with an observant eye and a shy smile. Bruce isn't Stephanie's dad, but Stephanie's still his kid, and he learns to love (and fear) the snarky insanity she brings. Cass doesn't speak much at all, but she doesn't need to; her smiles and little gestures say everything. Damian has sharp edges and a sharper tongue, but eventually Bruce sees the soft heart hidden within hi spiky shell.

Bruce looks at his growing family, full of broken, healing kids, and wonders how all their respective birth parents could have possibly treated them the way they did. Dick is dead, and Bruce just can't understand. Don't they know how much of a blessing it is to still have a kid, strong and skilled and _alive?_ How could they have not cherished every moment with them? They were lucky, to have had such precious treasures in their hands, and they just threw them away.

His family fights and bickers and quarrels and is almost everything Bruce never thought he would have. But sometimes Bruce can't help but see the gap where his eldest should've been and desperately wishes that Dick were here to see them all. Dick had always wanted a sibling. Now he has so many, and it breaks Bruce's heart to realize that he would never know them, nor they him. His son would've loved them.

* * *

"Bruce."

He looks up from the computer. His three living sons are standing behind him. There had been a fire raging in downtown Gotham, and the three had been sent to handle it, while Bruce wrapped up the end of patrol. They are still coated in ash, their uniforms scorched at the edges. None of them are wearing their masks and so Bruce removes his cowl accordingly. Tim has burns along his exposed neck and is supporting Jason, who heavily favors one leg.

"Yes, Jason?" Then he glances at his sons' injuries and frowns disapprovingly. "You should be tending to your injuries first. Those burns need treatment, not to mention trying to stand on a broken ankle."

Jason waves his words away dismissively, even if Damian does retrieve a chair for his brother to sit in. The oldest sits back, looking unusually hesitant.

"Bruce," he finally says, haltingly, "have you ever... thought you've imagined the first Robin? Dick Grayson?"

Bruce stiffens minutely.

"Like in the corner of your eye," Tim elaborates.

"Looking real and kinda solid," Jason adds. "Watching you. Just hanging out, really."

Bruce's eyebrows lift in surprise. As a matter of fact, he has, but he also knows full well that grief can make people imagine things. Make him see his son everywhere he goes. They're visions and hallucinations, nothing more.

"You think... Dick... is watching you?" he echoes, stumbling over his son's name.

"Yes," Damian says. "He is quite persistent."

Bruce frowns, puzzled. Why would they be imagining him? Come to think of it, he's not even entirely sure they know Dick's face, what with his efforts at avoiding painful memories. The realization comes with no small amount of guilt. "What brought this on?"

"We, um. Well, we think we're being haunted, of sorts," Tim explains. "By his ghost. Or something. We're not really sure if he's a ghost or a shared hallucination because no one ever seems to notice him and no magic users seem to be able to detect him for whatever reason and he doesn't exactly act like a ghost sometimes and, um. Yeah."

Bruce is... doubtful. He trusts his sons completely, but it's hard to imagine that a ghost has been hanging around his family for so long. But then he remembers the times when he'd been beaten into the ground, one of his rogues grinning victoriously, when he'd been so close to defeat, and then his first son would be crouching over him.

Dick would give him that achingly familiar smile and urge him to stand up. To not give in. To keep fighting. He'd tell him that he was strong, that he could do it, that he was _Batman_ , and Batman doesn't give up.

And Bruce would get up. It would hurt like hell, but slowly, painstakingly, he always got up. Dick would grin at him, his eyes bright and blue, and tell him, _"I knew you could do it."_

He'd thought they'd just been hallucinations from being so close to death, but now...

Hope stirs in his chest.

"What makes you so sure of this?" Bruce asks, keeping his voice carefully even.

"We've all seen him. We think he's saved us all from death before. And..."

Tim's gaze drifts past Bruce, as if he was seeing something over his shoulder.

"Because he's here right now."

Bruce stills, staring at Tim. His middle son is still looking past Bruce, and now Jason and Damian are too. His breath catches in his throat under a surge of painful hope.

Then, slowly, very slowly, he turns around.

_"Hey, Bruce."_

He can't think. Can barely breathe. He's frozen in his chair, struggling to process what's standing before him. The cave is echoing with the sound of silence. Before he knows it, his stoic mask has crumbled away, wide eyes staring at a face he hasn't seen since that fateful night so long ago.

Time stills. The moment stretches on for an eternity. When he finally speaks, his voice comes out quieter than a whisper.

"Dick?"

The specter smiles, and it's the same smile that's haunted his dreams for years.

_"Yeah. It's me."_

This isn't real. It can't possibly be real. But it is. _It is._

Dick is here. Dick is dead and standing two feet away from him and _here_.

Bruce looks him up and down, drinking in the sight. He's the exact age that he was when he had been killed, but instead of the charred, torn Nightwing suit he had died in, Dick is dressed casually in a hoodie and sweatpants, free of injuries. If not for the faint indistinctness of his form, Bruce would think him completely alive and well.

"How?" he breathes.

Dick shrugs. _"I don't know. After my death, I was just... like this. It took me a long time to realize some people could glimpse me sometimes. Mostly close friends and family. Took even longer for me to learn that I could actually do stuff."_

"The whole time?" Bruce asks, voice bordering on wonder.

He nods. _"The whole time. I missed you, Bruce."_

"I missed you too, chum."

Before he even realizes he's moving, Bruce stands and reaches for Dick. His hands initially meet a faint resistance, like the air is pushing against him, before they sink right through his ghostly form. Bruce stares at where his hands are buried in his son's shoulders, his throat tightening

Dick glances down at his body, and a tinge of sadness enters his gaze.

 _"I'm sorry, Bruce. It takes a lot of effort and energy to maintain a solid shape people can consistently see. Even more interact with the living world. I'm already drained from helping them"_ — he nods towards Jason, Tim, and Damian, reminding Bruce that they're still there — _"with the fire earlier. I'm not going to be able to talk much longer."_

His son lifts one of his own hands and settles it on Bruce's wrist. He can barely feel the feather-light touch but savors it all the same.

 _"Before I have to go, I just wanted you to know that I don't blame you. Not at all. I don't forgive you because there's absolutely nothing to forgive."_ Bruce opens his mouth to argue and Dick holds up a hand, shaking his head firmly. _"No. You did everything you could, and that was all I could've asked of you. My death was not your fault. Okay, Bruce?"_

After a long moment, Bruce manages to nod. "Okay."

Dick smiles and turns to his brothers. _"Thanks for looking after him. He loves you all a lot, more than even he knows. And I know you never knew me in life, but I love you too, so, so much. And I'm going to always do the best I can to help you. To be the brother I never got to be."_

"You saved me from a fiery death twice now, among a bunch of other times you've saved my ass," Jason reminds him. "I'd say you're doing a pretty good job so far."

"We didn't know you in life," Tim agrees, "but I haven't forgotten what you've done for me. For all of us."

"Your assistance has been adequate." Damian nods once. "It is appreciated."

Dick laughs. _"Thanks, Jaybird, Timmy. And you're welcome, Dami."_

His form blurs, and for a split second, Bruce catches a glimpse of a face streaked with blood. Then his son smiles at him again, whole and happy and bright.

_"I won't be leaving you permanently. I promise. But I am almost out of time right now, so before I go, I just want you to know that no matter your faults, you were a good father. The best I could've ever asked for. I love you... Dad."_

Bruce smiles back and says, “I love you too, Dick.”

**Author's Note:**

> “I kinda wish they realized who he was and told Bruce so that he could get to know that his first son is still there's watching over them.” — TheHighWarlockofGlitter in a comment on Guardian Angel.
> 
> Boom. There you go. Thanks for the idea, by the way.
> 
> Thoughts? Questions? Specific requests for characters?


End file.
